


Stargazing

by sparklingice



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: After Party, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Astronomy, Barebacking, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Boys In Love, Drunk Jensen, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, Late at Night, Love Bites, M/M, Making Love, Marijuana, Nerd Jared, No Plot/Plotless, POV Jensen, Possessive Jared, Recreational Drug Use, Science, Shy Jensen Ackles, Stars, Suits, Top Jared Padalecki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklingice/pseuds/sparklingice
Summary: “Come on, Jen, will you let me fuck you?” Jared presses the words into his temple, running fever-hot and horny.“Only if you promise not to chase away the stars on my skin.” It’s nonsensical, but it works because he is drunk on whiskey and Jared is high on life and probably pot, and reality is a loose string between them he can stretch out like a hairband and watch it bounce around Jared’s metaphorical fingers.In which Jensen is drunk, Jared is high and the starry night projector has been mysteriously upended.





	Stargazing

**Author's Note:**

> It just figures that my first J2 story is a self-indulgent smutty one-shot... Oh well. I hope you guys will like it despite the lack of plot. :)

 

He doesn’t see anything wrong with the stars - they are moving in soundless unison over the orange-black canvas of the night. Dizzying swings, back and forth, left and right. Jensen’s eyes track their progress, mesmerized.

“They are drifting away from each other.” Jared’s voice lilts into his ear, curls against his eardrum like the distressed whine of a puppy. “The universe grows. Hubble flow.”

“But we are stars too.” Jensen replies, happy to be utterly stupid without any effort.

“Don’t be a drifter, Jen.” Jared seems equally content being melancholy and wise.

“You are so wise.” Jensen tells his pillow or possibly the ceiling of his bedroom. It’s confusing, lying upside down on a mattress like this, socked left foot caught on Jared’s knee, bent leg propped up by the warm band of a too-big palm. “Like an ocean.”

“I wanna have sex with you.” Comes back over the channel, inches of a pinky finger wrapping around Jensen’s, a possessive little snake. Tempting pleasure.

Jensen imagines how they look right now, half-passed-out side-by-side, a pair of supine bodies in wrinkled suits, one bow legged starfish, one goofy redwood. Jared’s hair is sticking to the perspiration on his forearm, but it’s the angles he’s concerned about - it’s doubtful if he can navigate them. “I’m drunk.” He slurs.

“You can still ride me.”

Spelled out like that, it sounds better than it did when Jensen tried to make sense of the logistics of it. He smiles and lets the sluggish hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt pat up and down his torso. Unaided, his leg slips back down to rest on Jared’s bony shin.

“Come on, Jen, will you let me fuck you?” Jared presses the words into his temple, running fever-hot and horny.

“Only if you promise not to chase away the stars on my skin.” It’s nonsensical, but it works because he is drunk on whiskey and Jared is high on life and probably pot, and reality is a loose string between them he can stretch out like a hairband and watch it bounce around Jared’s metaphorical fingers.

“Promise.”

Clothing is an obstacle, condoms are not. Jen has been sparkly clean all day and he misses the smears of normality on his skin, the sweat, the bruises, the bliss-out of Jared’s love painted over ivory makeup. He wriggles, gets his wrists caught in stubborn-tight cuffs, whimpers high in his throat when Jared’s jealous hands tug away the pants hugging his ass.

“Mine is the world.” Jared giggles and rolls heavy-hard on top.

Jensen smacks him in the face with his white t-rex wrists. “Jaaay…” He drawls the syllable until he decides which of his complaints to voice first. “We should get naked.”

“I’m on it, babe.” Is what Jared mouths into his collarbone, then licks along a tendon of his neck, bites into the tender flesh of it. His sticky warmth makes the joy in Jensen’s chest tighten and burst out in quiet snickers. “Did you know that I can fold my tongue?”

“Fold it how?”

Jared’s eyes widen. His revelation seems like the greatest wonder of the world. “I don’t know. But it’s rad, Jen, I’m telling you it is.”

Jensen tries it. Helpful as always, Jared pries his mouth open to peer at his progress up close, thumbing at the pink-plush curve of Jen’s bottom lip while Jensen is making soft, wet noises of concentration.

“I give up.” Jensen mumbles after ten seconds and kicks his legs apart, thighs framing Jared’s slim hips. His rebellious tongue slips out between his teeth and flicks at Jared’s fingertip in a quick dart-and-flee attack. The mattress is so comfy and perfect under his naked back that he stretches in contentment, curling his toes against Jared’s calves.

“I hate your pants.” Because they are in the way. In his head, this is a completely valid argument against such an offending piece of fabric.

“I hate them too.” Jared agrees and pulls away, examines the dampness left on his skin, then raises his hand and pretends to relish in sniffing it just like he does at conventions. The look on his face drags undignified chuckles out of Jensen’s throat and an attempt at a hug his straitjacket of a shirt makes pretty fucking clumsy. Jared captures his struggling left wrist between his teeth and growls.

Jensen makes a face. “You made it all soggy now.”

“Nah. My mouth is a desert.”

“‘Cause it’s hot?”

Jared thinks it over, index finger hooked on his lips. “Yeah.” He concludes at last, then finally gathers himself together enough to peel the slacks and boxers off his hips.

His dick slaps onto Jensen’s bare stomach, glistening wet, and they stare at it in mirrored fascination until Jared lets out a deep, chortling laugh that never stops, stoned glee fit activated. Against the backdrop of swirling star-projections, he looks like a fairy, named Elvenking of the South or something just as ridiculous, and Jensen gawks at the long column of his neck, the blinding flash of teeth and the little mole dancing next to his nose with every shake of his head.

“I can smell your breath.” He murmurs, thinks of the world of wonders hidden in Jared’s sunflower eyes.

Jared stops laughing long enough to dip down and devour his mouth in a hungry kiss. “Am I sweet?” He asks, lips brushing Jensen’s stubbly chin.

Even drunk off his ass, the warning pops up in Jensen’s mind that he shouldn’t tell his boyfriend he resembles a weed farm. “You’re a… sugar factory.” He mumbles instead, grinning when Jared blinks at him with an absent look in his eyes.

The rest of their clothes disappear in a blur - a slow-mo blur, artistic indie movie style, with stops and breaks for the admiration of their blue lube bottle squeezed inside - then Jensen is turning over, drawing his legs up under himself in pliant anticipation. Jared is a little more coordinated, but he is so very slow it drives Jensen crazy. He is loose and prepared for anything Jared wants to give him, he doesn’t need any fingering just that hot, hard dick to fill him up, and those two hundred pounds of familiar weight draped over his body. He’s riled up now, needy and none too happy to indulge his lit boyfriend’s unhurried exploration.

Just as he’s working up the energy to protest, Jared’s hands come down on his ass, spread him wide, kneading gently. His mouth descends to the small of Jen’s back and nibbles away with a series of content hums.

An eternity of this routine later, Jensen begins squirming, booze-addled brain taking a hazy notice of the time - fifty-two minutes since they came home from the party, fifty-three, fifty-four... “Are you having the - whatsit…”

“Munchies.” Jared noses between his shoulder blades and bites down again. He’s leaving a lovely set of hickeys behind, his unique brands of belonging. “Hm, always.”

“Jay.”

“I just… I really like this dimple.” He moans into the place directly above Jensen’s butt. “There are tiny freckles on it and the skin is the smoothest, the cutest skin, Jen, you’d want to bite it too…”

He would, Jensen supposes, happy to go along with anything Jared suggests, glad to be compliant and wanted. But he is not a lazy-stoned pothead riding a high, he needs the pace to pick up right the fuck now. “Get on with it.”

Unfortunately, Jared’s fickle butterfly of a mind gets side-tracked again, flitting over to the fact that Jensen’s wrists are still enclosed in stupid white cotton. He tries worming his fingers under the cuffs to hold Jen’s hands, but they don’t fit, so he just envelopes Jensen’s loosely curled fists and rubs them through the thin material. Jensen lets his head drop and aligns his lips with Jared’s knuckles, because he is a kissy drunk and wants Jared to know he is only cold when he is afraid, that he likes affection the way a kitten does and loves, loves Jared with or without his hair.

“Ready to see some stars, Shackles?” Jared jokes and positions himself, the sandalwood scent of his cologne mingling with the sweat in the crook of Jen’s neck.

Jensen chuckles. Everything that comes out of Jared’s mouth is the funniest thing ever.

“I already see them.” All over the walls, the bedcovers and their bodies, tiny reflections of constellations lightyears away.

When Jared slides in, he bends their arms towards Jensen’s neck until he’s hugging Jensen to his chest, keeping him in place to thrust into his pliant ass with deep, relaxed rolls of his joints. The bed groans in protest, or maybe acclaim. Jensen could never quite figure out if the sight of their trysts is enough compensation for the wreckage they leave behind or not.

“You feel so good around me.” Jared shudders and grunts. The bony knobs of his hips smack down like a paddle, a delicious collision. _“Jen.”_

The flush of embarrassed delight creeps up Jensen’s body, fuelled by the satisfaction of knowing how good he is for Jared, how perfect. The shame of submission is a bitter aftertaste, but the alcohol-induced numbness keeps him from shying away into a position with more control. He feels snug and protected like this, safe. It’s needless to move.

“I never really… ‘ciated this curve.” Jared confesses to the pale arch of Jensen’s neck, lips parchment dry from too much licking.

“Don’t use words I don’t understand.”

“Appreciate. Worship.” Jared goes on, grinds down harder. “I’m starting a new religion devoted to it. The Church of Jen’s Dainty Neck.”

“I volunteer as a priest.” Jensen offers, because at the moment, any idea of Jared’s is an idea worth exploring.

The subsequent vibrating, dirty laugh is a given. “Hm, naughty little priest.” Jared smirks, then falls silent.

They don’t talk much after that. The tip of Jensen’s tongue tingles, his lips still aching for kisses. His desire crashes into his chest in waves as Jared makes languid love to him, breathes into his ear, wraps him into newfound sensations and rapture. It feels like the first time, unforgettable. Overwhelmed by the veil of serenity that settles in his thoughts, Jensen kind of forgets that maybe they should make some sound besides the synchronized rise and fall of their staccato breathing.

“Jen…” Jared warns when his rhythm falls apart, thin-strained voice rising, and Jensen braces himself, lets the pleasure flood him and fill him up from head to toe.

 _“Yes.”_ He sobs, tearless, and comes all over the sheets, feels like an exploding supernova next to a black hole, his particles sucked away by gravity. “Oh God, Jared.” He moans and blacks out.

 

Submerged in the afterglow, Jensen’s mind floats. They are still joined messy-tight, but Jared is now plastered to his back as a sentient blanket, and their arms are dangling down from the edge of the bed into the abyss below where the upended nightlight doesn’t flash its starry sky. The ruined dress shirt is in tatters on Jensen’s hands - he could scrape it off now, twist his wrists free, but moving hurts and it seems a bit more pressing to figure out how to respond to the intricate love confessions Jared’s molding into his nape.

“Best sex I’ve ever had.” Jared sighs and draws back before Jensen can think of a reply or get ready to face life as a solitary being again. “I will write it on your ass so that you won’t forget it in the morning.” He laughs at his own joke, now almost down from his high, and spanks Jensen’s unsuspecting buttcheek.

Jensen tries to smile, but it’s not funny anymore. He’s exhausted - his inebriation reached the point where things stop being hilarious and turn pretty fucking depressing instead. He curls into a ball and tries to ward off the wave of sadness that suddenly washes over him despite the comforter Jared settles around them like a cocoon.

“The stars are still moving.” He sniffles, eyelashes catching dampness. “I don’t wanna drift away.”

“Oh, babe.” Jared nuzzles the crow’s feet under his eyebrow and presses feather-light lips to the freckles scattered there. It goes a long way towards soothing Jensen’s ruffled emotions and lulling him into sleep, hangover headache already sneaking in.

“We are a binary star system, Jen.” He whispers. “Orbiting each other as the universe expands around us. Inseparable.”

 


End file.
